


Cold Cocoa

by allmystars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dean Winchester being a dick, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fireplaces, Happy Ending, Hot Cocoa, Hot Cocoa Symbolizes Their Love, Light Angst, M/M, Making Up, Snow Storms, Winter Wonderland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 12:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21410188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmystars/pseuds/allmystars
Summary: A gust of wind blows the snow up in a twirling spiral and he can’t help but smile at the way it dances in the light of the streetlamp. Dean used to dance with him in the pools of golden light on their street—only in the summer, though, when the air is balmy and the breeze, cool.Castiel closes his eyes and imagines it now, his heart aching as Dean’s smile flashes in his mind’s eye. We were so happy, he thinks, and he can’t help but wonder where all that love went.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It snowed here last night, and now it feels like Christmas! But also, some angst because...duh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, here's the lead up to Dean and Castiel's fight. Yes, I wrote this after the second chapter, but oh well!

“Oh, good. You’re home,” Castiel says as Dean walks through the door, shaking the snow off his jacket and peeling away his layers without looking at Castiel. He tries to ignore the tension in the room, shifting from foot to foot and wringing his hands as he waits for Dean to finish undressing. “Listen, I thought we could have dinner together tonight?” Castiel points over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “I cooked.”

With a sigh, Dean shakes his head. “I really wish you’d told me.” Dean tries to pass him, but Castiel lays a hand on his chest, stopping him and puckering his lips for a kiss. Dean gives him a quick peck before sliding by. “Lisa and I are getting on a flight tonight. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

“But, Dean, you just got home. I thought you said—”

“I know what I said, but things change, okay?” Castiel follows Dean all the way to their bedroom, where he’s unpacking his suitcase and repacking it with clean clothes.

“You don’t even have time for a quick dinner? Not even for our—”

“If I had time, I would, baby, but I don’t.” Dean zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder. “I’m running late as it is. Lisa needs to go over some things before we get on the plane, so I need to leave _now_.”

“I made you some hot cocoa,” Castiel tries, his voice rising at the end, but Dean doesn't stop. “Won’t you at least stay and drink it with me?”

Dean throws his hands up and spins around, exasperation clear on his face when his eyes meet Castiel’s. “Jesus Christ, Castiel! What don’t you understand about _I need to go_?”

Hurt, then anger, bubble up inside Castiel when Dean pushes past him again. “Seriously? You’ll make time for _her_—your _assistant_—but not for _me_—your _husband_? Not even on our anniversary?” Dean’s expression doesn’t change, and he turns away, slipping into his boots and pulling on his jacket like he doesn’t even hear him. Tears prickle in Castiel’s eyes as he spits out his next words, too upset to care that they might hurt Dean. “Fine, spend our anniversary with _her_. Just have sex with her and get it over with, but don’t you dare come back after.”

Dean turns around slowly, his face like stone as he stares Castiel down. He cocks his head to the side as one corner of his mouth tilts up into a bitter smirk. “Maybe I will.”

Then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him before the roar of the Impala drowns out the ringing in Castiel’s ears.

Castiel tries his hardest to hold them back, but the tears fall anyway as he rushes into the living room, grabbing the mug of freshly made hot cocoa and pouring it down the drain.


	2. Chapter 2

A thick layer of fluffy snow blankets the earth just outside Castiel’s window and he watches as the heavy flakes swirl in the air before drifting to the ground in lazy circles. He thinks it might be beautiful if he weren’t so nervous about what it could mean.

Dean isn’t home yet.

He was supposed to be home almost an hour ago; his flight landed at six o’clock, and now—approaching ten o’clock—the sky is dark and Castiel is _worried_. He tries to reason with himself, considering a delay in the flight because of the weather, or maybe it was canceled altogether, but Dean surely would have called to let him know by now, right?

Castiel sips at his hot cocoa, trying to ignore the other mug on the table beside him. Its contents have long gone cold, but he can’t bring himself to pour it down the drain just yet. Dean might want to just reheat it when he gets in, instead of having Castiel make him a new drink entirely—he’s great like that, Dean is.

A gust of wind blows the snow up in a twirling spiral and he can’t help but smile at the way it dances in the light of the streetlamp. Dean used to dance with him in the pools of golden light on their street—only in the summer, though, when the air is balmy and the breeze, cool.

Castiel closes his eyes and imagines it now, his heart aching as Dean’s smile flashes in his mind’s eye. _We were so happy_, he thinks, and he can’t help but wonder where all that love went.

He holds onto these memories so he doesn’t have to accept what he already knows to be true. Dean’s plane arrived on time, and he’s not coming home because he’s with _her_. He’s with Lisa Braeden and her pretty hair and perfect smile, not caring that Castiel is waiting up for him, worried out of his mind.

Dean doesn’t care and Castiel isn’t sure he should. After all, Castiel had been downright cruel to Dean before he left on his business trip. He told Dean not to come back—so what if he apologized immediately—Castiel knows he hurt Dean, and how he’s suffering for it.

Castiel shakes the thoughts from his mind. Dean has to come back—he _has _to—because Castiel doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t.

He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and stares into the roaring fire across the room—the only source of light in the entire house—soaking in the warmth it radiates.

Castiel checks his phone for the hundredth time, finding no new messages as he tucks his feet up under him and settles deeper into his chair—Dean’s chair, actually. One of a matching set they bought years ago when they first moved in together just after they got married.

Now, Castiel’s stomach flips as he holds his phone to his ear, listening to it ring as he stares at the platinum band on his left ring finger. He remembers the day Dean asked him to marry him like it was yesterday. They had been busy the entire day, Christmas shopping for their relatives all bundled up in hats and scarves as they strode through downtown. Castiel was smiling up at the snow-filled sky—is was a day much like this one—and when he looked back at Dean, it was to find him on one knee in the middle of the square, his cheeks flushed and smile wide as he said the word, _Castiel Novak, will you marry me?_

Castiel smiles at the memory as the call goes to voicemail. “Hey, Dean. It’s me again. Just wondering where you are.” He pauses, worry swelling inside him. “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be, but just…just come home, okay? Please—” The call cuts out and Castiel tosses his phone aside as tears prickle in his eyes.

He can’t just sit here—not with Dean’s cold cocoa mocking him from the side table. He needs to get up and move around, maybe go for a walk—anything to keep his mind off his absent husband. So, he tosses his blanket aside, downs the last of his lukewarm cocoa, and heads for the door.

Bundled up in his parka, a bright red scarf and matching mittens, and the black and yellow striped bumblebee tuque Dean had bought him last Christmas, he heads out, making sure to lock the door behind him before stepping into the night, his tall boots sinking in the eight inches of snow built up on the walkway.

He walks leisurely despite the chill in the air and the snowflakes catching in his lashes. The crisp breeze clears his mind, letting him forget, just for the time being, that Dean is probably never coming home. The streets are void of people, so Castiel walks down the center of the road, taking in the beauty of the night around him.

Every house is lit up with colorful lights just in time for Christmas, and Castiel marvels at the way the snow reflects them. Colour bathes front lawns all the way up and down the street and Castiel wishes he could appreciate it more, but his stomach twists with sadness and tears prick his eyes, threatening to fall.

He doesn’t stop them, letting them trickle down his cheeks in twin streams before wiping them away with the back of his gloved hand. How could be so stupid as to let Dean leave angry? Why didn’t he call him at all while he was gone? Castiel knows why, of course—he’s stupid and stubborn and doesn’t deserve Dean. Dean is too good for him and he always has been.

He’s not sure how long he walks for since he didn’t bother picking up his phone before he left, so he walks until his cheeks sting and his joints ache from the cold. The tears stopped falling some time ago, so when he finally stars back the way he came, all he feels is hallow loneliness in his heart.

He thinks he might just go to bed when he gets home, but he doesn’t think he can spend another night alone in their bed. It feels too big for just him, and he can’t stand the feeling of empty sheets where Dean should be. Maybe he’ll just sleep in Dean’s chair again, no matter the ache in his neck in the morning.

He’s lost in his thoughts, thinking about whether he should call Dean again or not, or if he should heat Dean’s hot cocoa and drink it himself, or just pour it down the drain, as he trudges up the walkway to his front door. It’s dark, and the falling snow swirls in his vision, so he only sees the dark figure stand from the steps when he’s halfway up the path, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Cas?” The man says, and everything inside Castiel freezes. He recognizes that voice—_Dean’s _voice.

Dean steps forward, his movements stiff and awkward, and Castiel can just barely make out his features from the glow of the Christmas lights hanging above their heads. Castiel doesn’t speak, too hopeful to dare to move.

“I, uh…I tried the door, but it’s—it’s locked, and I tried to call, but…” Dean pauses, his eyes flicking around as he searches for the right words. He takes a step closer, and Castiel’s eyes flick to the bouquet clutched in Dean’s trembling hand. “Oh, I got you these.” He holds the blue and white roses out in front of him, a shy smile curving his lips. “I know it’s not enough—not good enough of an apology—but I want to, you know, to make it up to you.”

Castiel shifts on the spot, his mouth opening, and closing as he struggles to find the right words to tell Dean he has nothing to apologize for, but what comes out instead, is, “How did you get here?” Because his car isn’t in the driveway, and no tire tracks are leading up to their house to let Castiel know he was dropped off.

“I walked,” Dean says with a shrug, and for the first time, Castiel notices the snow piled up on the fur-lining of Dean’s hood—the force of his shivers as he stands in front of him, his lips, blue-tinged, and cheeks, red with cold.

Castiel lets out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Of course, you did, you idiot.” Castiel finally manages to get his feet moving, and he steps right up to Dean, ignoring the trepidation he can see on Dean’s face and pulls him into his arms.

Dean softens immediately, his arms coming up to clutch at the back of Castiel’s jacket. “I missed you, Cas,” Dean whispers, tucking his nose into Castiel’s neck and pulling him in closer. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”

“We were both wrong, okay? I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Castiel pulls back, looking into Dean’s tear-filled green eyes. “Come, you’re freezing.”

“Wait,” Dean says, pulling Castiel back in when he tries to move away. “I just…I want you to know I didn’t cheat, okay? I could never do that to you—_never_.”

Castiel feels tears burning his own eyes as he remembers their fight. How he told Dean to just get it over with—to just have sex with Lisa, already—and how Dean told him maybe he would. He had cried well into the early hours of the morning after Dean left, thinking he’d really done it this time—he’d finally pushed his ever-patient husband too far. “I know,” he whispers, and he _does _know.

“I’m sorry I said—”

“I know,” Castiel says again, making sure to hold Dean’s eyes as he does. Dean sighs his relief, and Castiel leans in for a quick kiss. Dean’s lips are cold and stiff against his own, and when he pulls away, he steps back toward the door. “Can we go inside now? I really don’t want you to freeze to death now that you’re home.”

“Yeah, my love, let’s go inside.”

Castiel builds the fire back up as Dean tucks himself into his chair, a blanket draped over him and wrapped around his shoulders to warm him up,

“I made you hot cocoa, but it’s probably cold now,” Castiel says, gesturing to the mug on the table beside Dean’s chair as he fills a vase for the roses. “I can make you a new one.”

Dean smiles a soft, appreciative smile. “Could you just heat it up? No need to waste it.”

Warmth spreads through Castiel’s heart, suffusing him with love for his husband as he takes the mug to the kitchen and sticks it in the microwave. Dean never was one to throw away something good for something new, and Castiel has always loved that about him.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter at [allmystars_i](https://twitter.com/allmystars_i)  
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